Forsaken by Shadows 45: The Council Meeting

~10. The Council Meeting~

Rismyn

Barely half a shade after the decision to eavesdrop was made, Rismyn found himself kneeling behind a natural outcropping of stone on the edge of the temple compound, with Ardyn on his right and Beltel on his left. The grounds were nearly deserted this late in the Red Light, but not completely empty. Here and there a few Songblades drifted, and of course, there were always the guards at the door. 

The three of them were as still as the stone they hid behind, studying the clerics’ movements with expert attention, albeit attention that was still hazed by black-shroom ale. But Launa being Launa, there were no patrols to account for, or any increased security measures, though that didn’t make Rismyn feel any more at ease. He and the others had no legitimate reason to be here, and though he couldn’t speak for Ardyn, he knew he and Beltel weren’t the most pious of citizens. If anyone stopped to ask them what they were doing, he doubted they’d believe they had come here to pray. 

Fortunately, they’d all agreed they didn’t want to be seen. Not through the front door, not in the chapel, and definitely not skulking around the statue of Eilistraee. 

“That window,” Beltel murmured, pointing to one on the east side of the temple. “It shouldn’t be any trouble to slip through it.”

Rismyn nodded, agreeing with the assessment. The window was in the middle of the architecture, and if he recalled correctly, would put them into a classroom that led to a hallway that would take them to a side entrance into the chapel. 

“There’s probably only three Songblades in the chapel at this hour,” Ardyn added. “The harpist and two acolytes.” 

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Rimsyn said. 

“Then let’s go,” Beltel said, and they rose as one, slinking through the shadows. 

It wasn’t hard to get to the window unseen, as no one lurked on this side of the grounds, though the paved walkways and crystal gardens extended this far. The silence and shadows were plenty, and the towering quartz formations offered ample opportunities to hide just in case. 

Within minutes, they were pressed against the wall, with Beltel in the lead. The new captain slid a thin dagger from his belt and wedged it under the window pane, sawing it up and down as he attempted to pry it open. Rismyn and Ardyn flanked him, each keeping watch in an opposite direction. 

So far, so good.

The windowpane popped with a sound that seemed to echo in the cavern, and they froze, exchanging horrified looks. 

‘Go, go!’ Rismyn signed to Beltel, who hurriedly leapt through the opening. Rismyn followed with Ardyn close behind, who slammed the window shut. 

They were indeed in a classroom, and as the window closed they scattered in separate directions, diving under cover. Rismyn ducked beneath a book-laden table by the door, turning just in time to see Beltel vanish behind the teacher’s desk and Ardyn slip into a storage closet. 

And then they waited, certain the sound of the window would attract attention. 

Several minutes passed, and nothing happened. Rismyn’s heartbeat returned to its normal pace, and he tentatively poked his head out. Ardyn peered from his closet, and their eyes met. 

‘Clear?’ the gloam-drow signed. 

Rismyn nodded, and they melted from their hiding places. 

Beltel rose to join them, taking the lead once more. He moved to the door and opened it the barest of cracks, before pulling it wide enough to slip through. 

‘Clear,’ he signed, as he stepped into the hall. 

Sconces of faerie fire lit the empty passageway with violet hues, the dancing shadow and light playing tricks on Rismyn’s eyes. Every shimmering flicker made him flinch, as though a cleric was coming around the corner any second, ready with a reprimand. 

But as they filed down the corridor, no one accosted them. In fact, it was all going a little too smoothly, which only made the hairs on the back of Rismyn’s neck stand up higher. They took a turn to the right, and then Beltel stopped outside of another door. 

‘Prayer room,’ he indicated, easing it open and glancing inside. It must have been empty, for he vanished a moment later. 

Rismyn was just about to follow when something brushed against his calf and he nearly jumped out of his skin. His hand went automatically to his dagger, even though there wasn’t a single soul in Launa he’d want to actually harm with it.

Not even the culprit of his fright. Silverpaw, the cursed feline, stared up at him with luminous, accusing eyes. 

“Tsssk,” he hissed, nudging the cat away from him with his toe. 

Ardyn hit his arm. ‘What are you doing?’ his hands exclaimed. 

Confused, Rismyn just stared at him, while Silverpaw glowered at his feet. 

‘Don’t you know cats are the emissaries of Eilistraee?’ 

‘So?’ Rismyn shrugged. ‘This one is a nuisance.’ 

To his surprise, Ardyn looked scandalized, dropping to his knees and rubbing Silverpaw’s ears affectionately. “He didn’t mean it,” he whispered to the cat. “You’re a beautiful creature.” 

Rismyn just gaped at him, until Beltel stuck his face back out in the hall. 

“What are you two doing?” he said. “Get in here before you’re seen!” 

They hurried in, and Rismyn made sure to shut the door before the cat could follow. 

‘The cats report to the Dark Maiden herself,’ Ardyn signed, as soon as they were in the room. ‘How can you be so rude to them?’

Rismyn blinked. He knew the animals were sacred to Eilistraee, but they were just that–animals. It wasn’t like Lolth’s spiders, whose eyes the demon-queen was said to spy through. True, they seemed slightly more intelligent then he would have expected an animal to be, but their interest in the happenings going on around them was nominal at best. What would the cats possibly be reporting to anyone? How much food hadn’t been left out for them? Who had dared to touch their bellies? 

‘They’re also tattle-tails,’ Beltel added, purposely using the wrong hand symbol for tale. He seemed rather amused by his own pun, for an elf who had spent the better part of the Red Light lamenting his own pun of a captain’s name. ‘So we should get out of here before it runs off and fetches a priestess.’

‘Tattle-tales?’ Rismyn repeated, using the correct word as they moved to the door across the room. ‘You can’t be serious.’ 

Based on the dark look that passed between Ardyn and Beltel, they were. Rismyn tossed up his hands in surrender, and then they were at the final obstacle, the door into the chapel. 

As their unofficial leader, Beltel went first, cracking the door and reporting his observations. 

‘Oholia is on the harp,’ he signed, though Rismyn wasn’t quite sure who Oholia was. At this point, he’d probably know her if he saw her, but Beltel was blocking the view. ‘Her back is to us. Looks like Rezzika and Galeene are chatting by the main entrance. I don't see anyone else, but they’re going to notice if we just stroll in.’ 

He shut the door and turned to the others. ‘Suggestions?’ 

‘We need a distraction,’ Rismyn signed at once, and the three of them looked around as if a distraction would magically materialize out of thin air. 

When it became apparent there was nothing in the room but furniture and a display of crystal arrangements, Ardyn tentatively raised his hands. ‘I could go out there and start up a conversation.’

‘Absolutely not,’ Beltel signed emphatically. ‘You’re fifty percent of the reason we’re here.’ 

Ardyn just shrugged, and Rismyn suspected he’d been hoping for an excuse to get out of their mission. His commitment had wavered on the journey to the temple, an affliction Beltel had quietly insinuated–in sign language, behind Ardyn’s back–was a result of Ardyn’s growing up in Launa, where rules were actually enforced. 

‘We could always wait until they’re not looking?’ Rismyn suggested, though even as he signed it, he didn’t like the idea. The longer it took them to get into the spy hole, the more valuable information they were missing in the meeting. 

Beltel shook his head, apparently coming to a similar conclusion. ‘Who knows how long it might take.’ 

In the stillness that followed, a single sound cut through the silence. 

“Mrow?”

They jumped as though the door had burst open, though it was only the muffled cry of the cat on the other side of the wall. Ardyn’s hand went to his heart while Beltel rubbed his forehead. 

Rismyn, on the other hand, had a sudden idea. They needed a distraction, right? Grinning, he went to the door and wrenched it open, finding the grey tabby seated just outside, staring up at him with her big silver eyes. Behind him, he sensed the waving hands of his protesting companions, but he ignored them. 

“Hey, Silverpaw,” he said, putting on his best smile as he knelt. “You want to be friends, right?” 

At least, that’s what Mazira insisted, whenever he complained about the feline’s unwanted attention. He’d always assumed the creature found immense joy in tormenting him, but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

The cat’s ears flicked forward, and he chose to interpret that as a sign of interest. 

“If you do me a favor, I’ll be nicer to you.” 

Her ears went flat, and she hissed, before getting to her paws and stalking away. 

Disappointed, Rismyn stood and shut the door. When he turned back, Ardyn was staring at him aghast, while Beltel just shook his head and cracked the chapel door open again. 

‘Now she’s definitely going to turn us in,’ the gloam-drow protested. 

‘It’s just a cat,’ Rismyn replied, though his motions reflected his bitterness. He really would have been nicer to the feline, if she had played along. Ah well, her loss. ‘How much trouble can it cause?’ 

‘Gentlemen,’ came Beltel’s sudden signal. He turned to face them, wearing a wicked grin. ‘The fates have smiled upon us. The Songblades are gone.’

Rismyn and Ardyn rushed to the door, and, sure enough, there was no one in the chapel but the priestess playing the ever-present harp, whose back was to them.

They didn’t take the time to question their fortunes. They just seized the opportunity, hurrying into the chapel and crouching low, so the rows of benches would obscure their silhouettes. 

Without the drifting eyes of the songsisters, it was embarrassingly easy to get behind the massive statue. In no time at all, they had crossed the chapel and stood together, staring at the blank stone wall, completely hidden behind the legs of the idol. 

‘So, now what?’ Rismyn signed, failing to see anything but solid rock before them. He tingled with anticipation, and though a voice in the back of his head suggested this was a terrible idea, he dismissed it. His hunger for answers and the black-shroom ale far outweighed his sense of self-preservation. 

Beltel was already on his knees, feeling the seams of the bricks. He paused just long enough to sign, ‘It’s right around here somewhere,’ though he frowned, evidentially not finding what he sought. 

Ardyn sighed, then nudged Beltel aside and took his place. He spread his fingers and placed one hand up and to the left of his position, and then another one center-right. When he pressed against the wall, the stones slid silently back, revealing a hidden door. 

Beltel raised an eyebrow and glanced at Rismyn. ‘Methinks he has done this before,’ he signed, with a conspiratorial smile. 

Rismyn had just returned his grin when a sudden, bright light brought his heartbeats to a screeching halt. Ardyn swore under his breath as a spark appeared in the seam of the newly revealed trap door, and it didn’t take them long to ascertain the problem. 

The spy hole had been trapped. The spark raced up and up, though what exactly would happen when it reached its destination, Rismyn could only assume, but he doubted it was good. He stood frozen, wavering between trying to stop whatever disaster was coming and abandoning the adventure with an attempted escape. 

Beltel and Ardyn chose disaster prevention. They lunged forward as one, slamming their hands on the seam as if they could catch the spark or smother it, but to no avail. With mounting dread, their eyes widened as the light sped out of reach, and then—

Water drenched them from behind, effectively snuffing out the spark. 

At least, Rismyn was drenched, his hair dripping and the back of coat and shirt clinging uncomfortably to his skin. The others had been in front of him, and both being shorter in stature, they escaped the majority of the splash. 

Judging by their pensive expressions, however, there was more to worry about than the mysterious liquid attack. 

Slowly, Rismyn turned to see what they were seeing, and for a brief moment, his tension eased as he found Ti’yana standing behind them. She clutched a pewter cup in her hand, one he recognized from beside the basin of holy water in the vestibule. His sense of relief evaporated when he caught sight of her rage-contorted features.

She tucked the cup into the crook of her arm and signed with angry spasms, ‘What are you idiots doing? You’re not allowed back here.’

‘Ti’yana!’ Beltel signed, shifting to stand in front of the spy hole as if he could block the door from view. ‘What a marvelous surprise. What are you doing here?’ 

‘Following you,’ she snapped, her eyes full of accusation. ‘I saw you three slink out of the tavern and feared you were up to no good. Apparently, I was right.’ 

At least Ardyn had the sense to look ashamed. Beltel just waved his hand dismissively, and that was about the moment Rismyn remembered how much ale he’d had to drink, and how much he probably shouldn’t be leading this discussion with the girl who had the power to ruin them all. 

‘You weren’t following us,’ the new captain signed with cheerful gestures. ‘Otherwise, you would have had to come through the window like we did and we would have noticed.’ 

Which was literally not the point, and Rismyn could have strangled Beltel. He was going to get them turned in. Ardyn might have struggled with mischief, but Ti’yana didn’t have a mischievous bone in her body. If there was one thing he could count on, it was that anything he said or did in front of her, good or bad, would be reported straight to Solaurin. 

Though for a girl who didn’t know the meaning of mischief, how had she known to bring the water to douse the trap?  

Ti’yana’s gaze narrowed with contempt. ‘I didn’t have to come through the window, because if you hadn’t been so drunk, you might have remembered the temple is open to anyone at any time. Seriously. All I had to do was walk in here and wait for Silverpaw to tell me where you were. No one even cared.’

At her mention of the cat, Beltel and Ardyn shot Rismyn withering looks, which he studiously ignored as he addressed Ti’yana. 

‘I’m not drunk,’ he began, because he definitely didn’t want that rumor getting back to Solaurin, or Mazira, for that matter. He might be a little tipsy still, but definitely not drunk. 

But before he could concoct an excuse, Beltel was signing again. ‘I am quite drunk, it is true,’ he admitted, and Rismyn resisted the urge to smack his head into the wall. ‘However, I am still sober enough to do THIS.’

With lightning reflexes, Beltel dove forward and grabbed Ti’yana, spinning her around and pinning her against his body with one hand over her mouth. On instinct, Rismyn dove for the pewter cup, catching it before it hit the ground and gave them all away. 

Ti’yana let out a muffled cry of alarm as Beltel dragged her toward the spy hole. 

“I got her, let’s go!” he whispered, before vanishing into the narrow room. 

Rismyn just stared after them, completely and utterly stunned. Ardyn caught his eye, looking just as astonished, before shaking his head. 

‘I think things just got out of hand,’ he signed, in shaky motions. ‘We better hurry before it gets worse.’ And then he, too, disappeared into the spy hole. 

Not knowing what else to do, Rismyn followed suit. 

The spy hole was certainly not designed with four fully grown adults in mind, and with Rismyn’s larger frame, they were crammed uncomfortably close into what essentially amounted to a cloak closet. Ti’yana was still pressed against Beltel’s body, her eyes blazing and full of hate-filled tears, which she aimed directly at Rismyn. 

Rismyn flinched, sliding the hidden door back into place and plunging them into darkness. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, as her form lit up furiously hot in his infravision. “I’ll explain later, I promise.” 

“I won’t,” Beltel muttered, his voice full of glee. “You deserve it for being meddlesome.” 

“Shut up,” Ardyn hissed. “Or they’ll—”

“You would see us all destroyed!”

The shout from the council room beyond made them all stiffen. The voice belonged to a male, but Rismyn didn’t recognize it. He did recognize the wrath in the tone, however. Someone was quite upset. 

“I would see my people safe,” came the iron cool voice of Mother Lara. 

“By letting the mercenaries in to wreak havoc on our society?” countered the first speaker. “No, Reverend Mother, this is too extreme of a solution.” 

Rismyn and the others leaned in, captivated. Even Ti’yana’s anger had faded, and Beltel had gone so far as to let her go, completely drawn in by the conversation they weren’t meant to be a part of. 

“Too far?” said a new voice, a squeaky female that Rismyn thought probably belonged to the gnome-wife who had raised Zalees. Phiphinia, he thought her name was. “Some of our best are dead, Tiomus. We don’t know who did it or how many are out there.”

The words were more chilling than Ti’yana’s holy water. Judging by the way everyone shifted, Rismyn wasn’t alone in his shock. People were dead? Who? When? Where? 

“You’re right, we don’t know,” argued Tiomus. “Which is why I don’t understand why you’re pushing us to reach out to the sellswords! For all we know it’s a lone ranger who happened upon our Songblades. Your overreaction could cost all our lives. You want to invite criminals inside our walls to scout our numbers and defenses and sell it to our enemies.”

“We have a long-standing relationship with Bregan D’Aerthe,” Mother Lara said, her voice still even, but sounding strained. “If they were going to betray us, they would have done so by now.” 

Someone snorted derisively, and there were other discontented murmurs. 

Rismyn didn’t blame them. His lingering sense of dread returned with a vengeance with every word spoken, and he was finding it difficult to absorb the news. Launa had an agreement with Bregan D’Aerthe? But they were evil. They’d coerced him into murdering a woman over supplies, something that still sometimes kept him up at Red Light. 

It was like mud had been splashed on one of Solaurin’s masterpiece tapestries, the beauty forever marred. How could the Sanctuary work with such people? 

“I understand your concerns,” said Mother Lara, silencing the mutters. “But the risk is great. There could be a mere scout, as Tiomus has suggested, or there could be a full patrol, or even an army. We’ve never had enemies so close to our door, and I’d rather not risk any more of our people’s lives.” 

“So send the Militia,” said Tiomus. “That’s why we have them. It’s their job to risk their lives for us.” 

Beltel’s lips curled in what looked like disgust, apparently not appreciating the councilman's comment. 

Rismyn agreed with his sentiments, but he was too distracted by Mother Lara’s comment to reply. Enemies at the door? A whole army? Fear like he hadn’t known since Tolouel had found him in the Wilds crept over his bones. 

No. There couldn’t be evil drow outside the Sanctuary’s gates, threatening his perfect life. He’d escaped the danger. He’d been saved. He couldn’t lose it all now, just when he was on the threshold of pure and lasting joy. 

And what about Mazira? What would this news do to her? He closed his eyes, as images of her returned to chains  flashed unbidden into his mind, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

Within the council room, a chorus of protests rose up in response to Tiomus’ words, but Rismyn only caught snatches of what was being said. It seemed some were in agreement, the Militia ought to be mobilized, while others felt the councilman’s words had implied the soldiers were expendable.   

“May I speak, Reverend Mother?” 

The voice was quiet, but unmistakably Solaurin’s, and a hush fell.

Solaurin must have received silent acknowledgement, for he continued as though given permission, his voice now more resonant as he addressed the council. 

“Friends, we have fallen into the trap of speaking in circles, and the hour grows late. The Reverend Mother desires only to preserve the lives of our community, as she has always sought—”

He paused as people began to protest, but the hubbub trailed away before it truly began. 

“But we simply do not have enough information,” Solaurin continued. “Torafein has already offered to lead a strike team to investigate. Why not allow him to go? I believe we can trust our elites to stay out of sight of threats they cannot handle, and I will personally volunteer to go on behalf of the Songblades. If the threat is greater than we can handle, then I will support your motion to contact the mercenaries.” 

Ti’yana let out a little gasp, clapping her hands over her mouth. Rismyn placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a comforting squeeze, forgetting she was livid with him. She didn’t seem to mind however, but leaned into his presence. Yet he himself wasn’t terribly worried. As soft as he’d come to learn Solaurin was, Rismyn would never forget the priest’s cool composure in the face of Mendroktovin. He would take Solaurin on a strike team any day.

Emmalara, however, did not agree. “No,” she said at once. “I will not risk the lives of any more citizens of Launa, and especially not yours, Solaurin. Your magic is too rare of a gift, and we have lost four such gifted in one attack.” 

“Four…?” Ti’yana breathed, her shoulders dropping. 

The shift in the hues of Ardyn and Beltel showed the blood had drained from their faces, as well. Not only were four of their citizens dead, but it was four of their powerful, faithful, magic-wielding anomalies. Women like Mazira and Ti’yana were training to be, who, Rismyn suddenly realized, were probably friends with Ti’yana and Mazira. 

Then a new voice cut through the murmuring, hard and gravelly. “But for a few hours, it might have been the corpse of my son Satara brought back to us this Blue Light.” 

The voice belonged to Torafein, and if Rismyn thought silence had fallen when Solaurin spoke, it was nothing to quiet that followed the wake of his words. Beside him, Ardyn shifted, his expression troubled. 

“Vote how you will, Councilors,” Torafein continued. “But I will be investigating. Even if you vote to close the Gates, you cannot stop me.” 

Ardyn shook his head, his jaw clenched and his brow furrowed. As if echoing his frustration, several councilors started speaking at once, and it was a few minutes before Mother Lara was able to call them back to order. 

“Torafein, your concern is appreciated, though your defiance is not,” she said, when she finally regained control of the forum. “I allowed you and Solaurin your excursion last year, but that doesn’t entitle you to act on your own whenever you want.”

“And yet there are few warriors within our walls more qualified for the task than Torafein,” Solaurin argued. “I am not downplaying the threat, Reverend Mother”–his words were delivered with the air of an argument he’d already had to make–“I am only asking for an abundance of caution. Let us gather intelligence and then make an informed choice on how to proceed.”

“I say we take it to a vote,” came Tiomus’ voice. There were murmurs of agreement. 

“Fine,” Mother Lara said, her words edged with steel. “We will vote to send Torafein and a team of his choosing on a reconnaissance mission to ascertain the level of threat, and then decide our course of action when they return. However, I am stipulating that you may not go, Solaurin. I need you here.” 

Solaurin sounded like he started to protest, but for once, Torfein’s voice overpowered him. 

“Agreed.” 

“Then let’s vote.” 

Beltel stirred, glancing at them and beckoning for them to follow. ‘We need to get out of here. After they vote they’ll dismiss.’ 

‘But I want to hear the results,’ Ti’yana signed. 

‘Whatever they decide will be public knowledge by morning,’ Ardyn argued. ‘Beltel’s right.’ 

They waited until Beltel signaled it was clear, and then all but fled from behind the statue and into the prayer room, the need for the overabundance of stealth long forgotten. Once safe within the room, they stood for a moment, just staring at one another, as the full weight of what they overheard began to sink in.  

Four songblades were dead, and it could be the fault of anything from a rogue attacker to the heralds of a full-scale invasion. Whatever had happened, it had Mother Lara spooked enough she’d wanted to bring in mercenaries to deal with it. Solaurin, who hated leaving the comforts of his soft silks, was concerned enough to actually volunteer to go, and Torafein had risked open defiance to make his point. 

They were all in grave danger, and no one was talking about it yet. 

“We didn’t hear anything,” Beltel said, so serious he could have been his brother. He caught each of their eyes with a meaningful look. “Understand? We didn’t hear anything.” 

Rismyn nodded, understanding completely. He understood now why Solaurin had been so nervous earlier, as well, and why he had refused to speak of anything before it was time. This secret was too big to let leak. It could cause unmitigated panic. Mazira wasn’t the only one whose fragile peace was at stake. The whole city was made up of people who’d experienced terrible things at the hands of drow. 

They made their way out the same way they came in, parting ways with Ti’yana in the hall, though she assured Rismyn she’d be waiting to walk home with him. Her cold refusal to acknowledge Beltel hinted at the return of her anger, but he couldn’t even begin to dredge up trepidation over a lecture when so much more was going on. 

So many things were starting to make sense, but the one thing he couldn’t figure out was what all this had to do with him and why he couldn’t join the Militia.

Disclaimer: Forsaken by Shadows is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.